Gaslight in Page Street (64 page)

On Friday morning Florrie Axford got up very early, and as soon as she returned from her cleaning job knocked at Nellie Tanner’s front door.

‘Is there anyfink yer want me ter do, Nell? I could ’elp yer wiv the packin’ if yer like?’

Nellie shook her head. ‘Fanks fer the offer, Flo, but it’s near enough all done. I’m jus’ waitin’ fer the van ter call.’

‘When yer collectin’ the key?’ Florrie asked as casually as she could.

‘There’s no rush. Sharkey won’t be ’ere till this afternoon. Will said ’e’s gonna call in the office after dinner.’

‘Well, I’ll let yer get on then,’ Florrie said.

The Page Street women’s deputy made her second call of the morning and was angered by the young man who stood facing her over the counter.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Axley, but ...’

‘Axford,’ she corrected him.

‘Well, I’m sorry Mrs Axford but I can’t give the key to anyone but the person who signed the tenancy forms,’ the young man informed her, looking awkward. ‘It’s the rules, you see.’

‘Sod yer rules,’ Florrie said in a strident tone. ‘I live in Page Street an’ I’m sodded if I’m gonna walk all the way back there ter tell Mrs Tanner that yer won’t let me ’ave the key. Like I said, she’s got ’er ole man down wiv the flu an’ she can’t get up ’ere’ erself. She said yer was a very nice young man an’ yer’d be only too glad ter let me ’ave the key. I’m beginnin’ ter fink she made a mistake. Yer not very nice at all. Yer don’t care that ’er’ ’usband’s very poorly an’ she don’t know which way ter turn. Movin’s a very nasty business, ’specially when yer movin’ inter a poxy ’ole like Bacon Street Buildin’s. Still, if yer won’t budge, I’ll jus’ ’ave ter speak ter yer manager. I’m sure ’e’ll be a little more understandin’. Will yer go an’ get ’im, if yer please?’

The young man scratched his head, feeling very embarrassed. It was only his first week at the office. He recalled the advice the manager had given him: be helpful and don’t be afraid to use your own initiative. Well, the manager was out of the office and he had been left in charge. Mrs Axford seemed a genuine enough lady, even if her tongue was rather sharp. He would have to make a decision.

‘All right, Mrs Axley ...’

‘Axford.’

‘All right, Mrs Axford, I’ll give you the key, but you must promise me you’ll give it to Mrs Tanner immediately,’ the young man said firmly.

‘Cross me ’eart an’ ’ope ter die,’ Florrie said with mock reverence.

The young man passed over the key with a flourish and Florrie smiled at him.

‘I fink yer a very nice man after all,’ she said graciously, ‘an’ I shall tell the manager so, soon’s I see ’im.’

There was one more little lie to tell, Florrie thought as she walked quickly back to Page Street. The church clock showed five minutes to nine when she walked in the turning and knocked at Nellie’s front door once more.

‘Sorry ter trouble yer, luv, but the man from the estate office knocked at my door by mistake an’ I told ’im I’d pass the message on,’ she said. ‘’E said ter tell yer not to worry about callin’ in the office fer the key, as ’e’s gotta go ter the buildin’s ter do some inspectin’ an’ ’e’ll leave it wiv the porter. All right, luv?’

‘Well, that’s a journey saved, Flo,’ Nellie replied. ‘Got time fer a cuppa?’

Normally Florrie would have accepted but she had visions of women marching up and down Bacon Street with brooms and mops over their shoulders. ‘No fanks, Nell,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve gotta get over uncle’s right away before ’e ’as a chance ter put that ring o’ mine in the winder. The bleedin’ pledge was up yesterday, an’ yer know what ole Beckford’s like. ’Is arse is always makin’ buttons.’

Florrie hurried along the street and turned left at the end. The gloomy building loomed up large and forbidding against the tidy little houses. Her friends were gathered together with folded arms outside the first block.

‘Right then, up we go,’ Florrie said, leading the way up a long flight of rickety wooden stairs. The walls were shedding plaster and there was a large sooty mark around the bare gas jet. The first narrow landing led along from the head of the stairs to another similar flight. On the second landing Florrie stopped to catch her breath. ‘C’mon, gels, one more flight,’ she said encouragingly to her friends as they followed, puffing with exertion.

There were four flats on the landing and Florrie went to the door directly at the head of the stairs and inserted the key.

‘Good Gawd! Look at the state of it,’ Sadie exclaimed as she went inside. ‘We’re gonna ’ave our work cut out ’ere.’

‘It looks like it’s bin used as a bleedin’ stable,’ Aggie remarked.

‘It smells like a bleedin’ stable,’ Maisie cut in.

‘Open that bloody winder, fer Gawd’s sake,’ Florrie commanded.

The two bedrooms proved to be even more filthy, and when Florrie looked into the tiny scullery which led directly from the front room, she shook her head sadly.

‘I thought our places were bad enough but compared ter this they’re bleedin’ palaces,’ she murmured.

Beneath the scullery window there was a small sink and a copper. Facing the sink was an iron gas-stove which was caked in grease, and beyond the stove a door leading to the toilet.

‘D’yer realise yer could sit on the pan an’ cook a meal at the same time,’ Maggie remarked. ‘I reckin it’s bloody disgustin’.’

‘Well, c’mon then, let’s get started,’ Florrie said bravely, filling a galvanised pail and putting it on the gas-stove to heat up.

The women set to work. Maisie cleaned the windows, Maggie cleared out the hearth and blackleaded the grate, and Sadie started scrubbing the bare floorboards. Florrie rolled up her sleeves and tackled the filthy gas-stove, while Maudie pottered about with a wet cloth around the woodwork.

Ida Bromsgrove realised that her bright idea had given everyone a mammoth task as she got down on her knees and helped Sadie with the scrubbing. ‘D’yer remember the time we all went on that outin’ an’ Nellie brought us all ’ome after ole Soapy Symonds got pissed?’ she said with a chuckle.

Sadie leant back on her heels and ran her hands across her forehead. ‘Do I! Remember those pair o’ toffee-nosed ole cows I nearly set about, Ida?’ she laughed.

Ida jerked her thumb in the direction of Aggie who was busy with a toilet-brush. ‘Remember when we all lifted ’er in the cart an’ she was frightened we was gonna drop ’er? What a day that was,’ she said, grinning.

Suddenly there was a loud banging on the front door. Maudie looked worried as she hurried over to open it and was confronted by a large, middle-aged man with a walrus moustache.

‘What you lot doin’ in ’ere?’ he demanded.

‘We’re doin’ a bit o’ cleanin’ fer Nellie,’ Maudie said meekly.

‘Oh, is that so?’ the man said haughtily. ‘Well, I’m Mr Pudsey the porter an’ I’m in charge o’ this ’ere buildin’.’

‘Please ter meet yer, Mr Pudsey, I’m sure,’ Maudie replied.

The porter hooked his hands through his braces and glared around at the women. ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter leave,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘Yer should ’ave come an’ seen me before yer decided to stroll into the flat.’

Sadie got up and made for the door with a malevolent look in her eye but Florrie beat her to it.

‘I’m Florrie Axford an’ I’m in charge o’ this lot, so anyfing yer got ter say yer can say ter me,’ she told him firmly.

‘Yer’ll ’ave ter leave is what I’m sayin’,’ the porter said, eyeing her warily.

‘Oh, that’s what yer sayin’, is it?’ Sadie growled over Florrie’s shoulder. ‘Well, yer can piss off orf out of it. We’re cleanin’ up this pigsty an’ that’s that.’

The porter knew all about the Sullivans and he stepped back a pace. ‘I’ve got me job ter do, missus,’ he said in a less commanding voice.

‘Yeah? An’ we’ve got our job ter do, so why don’t yer leave us ter get on wiv it?’ Sadie berated him.

Florrie had often found herself acting as the leader not least because of her guile and cunning, and on this particular Friday morning she was not found lacking. ‘All right, Sadie, jus’ get on wiv yer scrubbin’,’ she said quietly. ‘Me an’ the buildin’s manager are goin’ ter ’ave a little chat.’

Albert Pudsey had been called a few names in his time by the tenants of Bacon Street Buildings but never a ‘manager’. He brushed his hand across his bushy moustache as Florrie slipped out on to the landing and pulled the door half closed behind her.

‘I’ve often seen yer pass me winder an’ I never knew yer was the manager o’ these buildin’s, Mr Pudsey,’ she remarked. ‘I was only sayin’ ter Mrs Dougall the ovver day, “Maisie,” I ses, “who’s that big fella walkin’ up the street?” An’ Maisie ses ter me, “Yer know, Flo, I fink ’e’s a copper, one o’ them plainclothes coppers.” ’Ave yer ever bin in the police, Mr Pudsey?’

The porter shook his head. ‘Nah. I used ter be on the roads, before I got this job,’ he said, throwing out his chest.

‘A commercial traveller?’

‘Nah, I used ter dig ’em up,’ he told her.

‘What, the roads?’ she asked innocently.

The porter was not sure whether the woman was making fun of him or whether she was just tuppence short of a shilling. He backed away. ‘Look, I’ve got me rounds ter do,’ he said. ‘Don’t ferget ter make sure that door’s shut when yer leave.’

Florrie gave him a big smile. ‘All right, Mr Pudsey. Jus’ leave it ter Auntie Flo. Oh, by the way, the manager at the office said you’d ’ave ter see Mrs Tanner in, so I’d better drop the key through yer letterbox. She should be ’ere about five o’clock.’

Later that morning the porter watched the band of weary women marching away and shook his head slowly. ‘It’s gettin’ bloody worse round ’ere,’ he muttered.

The following Monday morning Carrie arrived at Fred Bradley’s and took her place behind the counter. All day the usual comings and goings went on, and as she served the teas and coffees, took the food orders and tidied the tables, Carrie’s mind was racing. She had decided what she was going to do now and there could be no turning back. It was a decision born of desperation but her inner feelings told her that it was the right one, the only one. She would have to be bold and straightforward. There must be no misunderstanding.

She felt a churning in her stomach as she walked resolutely into the back kitchen after Bessie Chandler had left, and sat down at the freshly scrubbed table.

Fred was hanging up the pots and pans and looked at her in surprise. ‘I expected yer ter be makin’ buttons ter get away, Carrie,’ he said, smiling. ‘Yer look as though yer don’t fancy the prospect o’ goin’ ’ome ter Bacon Street Buildin’s.’

Carrie stared down at her fingernails and took a very deep breath. ‘There’s somefing I wanna ask yer, Fred,’ she said, her eyes coming up to meet his.

He sat down facing her, concern on his face. ‘Yer not gonna ask me ter let yer leave, are yer?’ he said quickly.

She looked down at her hands and then fixed him with her eyes again. ‘Yer told me some time ago that yer wanted ter marry me. D’yer still feel the same way?’ she asked quietly.

Fred dropped his gaze momentarily. ‘There’s no need ter ask, Carrie,’ he replied. ‘I could never change the way I feel about yer.’

‘Well then, I will marry yer, Fred,’ she said, her voice quavering.

He stood up, his eyes open wide and his mouth hanging open. ‘Christ! I don’t know what ter say,’ he gasped, holding his hands out to her.

Carrie stood up and walked around the table and the next instant she was in his arms. She closed her eyes tightly as he kissed her cheek.

She had spent the whole day thinking about her decision and was convinced she was doing the right thing. For a long time now Fred had been more than just an employer. He had become a very good friend. She was almost twenty-seven and at that age most of the girls she knew were already married with children. She had no one special in her life since Tommy, and her mother was always asking her when she was going to find a steady lad. Carrie was aware that it would be difficult to find another man as good as Fred. The dining rooms could soon be improved, and with a little thought and a lot of hard work there was no reason why she should not be able to earn enough money to take care of her parents. She had vowed not to let them spend the rest of their lives in that rotting tenement block. Fred was stroking her back tenderly as she nestled in his arms and she said a silent prayer.

‘Yer’ve made me very ’appy,’ he said, releasing her and looking into her blue eyes. ‘I jus’ can’t believe it!’

Carrie took his hands in hers. ‘I’ve bin doin’ a lot o’ finkin’ an’ I realised I couldn’t keep yer waitin’ too long,’ she said. ‘I like yer very much, Fred, an’ I can learn ter love yer, I know I can.’

‘I’ll make a good ’usband an’ I’ll take care o’ yer, Carrie,’ he said with feeling. ‘One day yer’ll know that yer love me. We both will. Now what about a nice cup o’ tea ter celebrate?’

She laughed warmly. ‘Yer a lovely man, Fred Bradley,’ she said.

Chapter Thirty-eight

One evening early in February Charlie Tanner walked into block A of Bacon Street Buildings and slowly climbed the stairs. The crumbling, insanitary tenement was not unfamiliar to the young veteran. He had played in and out of the blocks when he was a lad and many times had felt the boot of an angry porter on his backside. The place looked smaller now, and even more dilapidated. The walls had become more cracked, the gas-jet had lost its mantle and glass shade, and paint was peeling from the front doors.